


Jane Doe

by TriangleEntheusiast



Series: As Above, And So Below [1]
Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: 80s Things, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Avoidance of Fanon, Betty Crocker - Freeform, Conflicting Ideas, Cyberpunk, Cyborgs, Dark, Dark Comedy, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Flashbacks, M/M, Mixed Human and Troll Society, Other, POV Jane Crocker, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Psychological Horror, Robots, Science Fiction, Skaia City, Some Horror Themes, Story gets progressively darker, Twisting Plotline, Unreliable Narrator, VERY UNRELIABLE NARRATOR, Vagueness, abstract writing, crockercorp, hiveswap - Freeform, horror themes, some disturbing themes, some very dark themes, trigger warning, underground revolutions, unreliable narrators, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriangleEntheusiast/pseuds/TriangleEntheusiast
Summary: "The hover-train weaves its way through the towering buildings, their lights looking like comets as they fly by your vision, before passing by a few flickering holographic billboards, a few of which are for Crockercorp and its services. They all feature the same bright red logo and cheerfully smiling woman on them. They're a rather common sight, here in Skaia city.You pay them little mind."[Cyberpunk AU.]Self-employed sleuth 'Jane Doe' isn't necessarily an everyday Skaian citizen. Legally speaking, she's not technically even a Skaian citizen at all, let alone existent.  She spends her days and nights in the city snooping for pay, and though she's got herself into the occasional problem in the past, she's always gotten out of it unscathed, thanks to her wit. Of course, there's a good reason why Jane isn't considered a real person by the city's database, and it's bound to catch up with her at some point, which she's well aware of. Things get even more complicated when she finds herself dragged into something quite a bit bigger than her usual mysteries, which lands her with more things to worry about than just remaining incognito.Do give the tags a look.





	1. Strange Talks With Strange Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins, though at a point that is quite obviously not a beginning.
> 
>  
> 
> Do give [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyZnvH-GfnA) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9cYZ05aoVg) a listen, whilst reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to give the tags a read if you would like to know what to expect from this twisty little story.  
> Doing so is advised.

Your name is **Jane Doe.**

Well, not technically, but to any person you give a name of yours to, you are Jane Doe.

Or Jane Anderson.

Or Jane Woods.

Or Jane Hartman.

Never Jane _Crocker_ , though, for a vast amount of perfectly logical reasons.

Never Jane Smith, either, because ‘Smith’ is a surname alike to the name ‘Bob’, in the way that it is one of those names that are simply too ordinary to be real ones, more often than not.

When one aims to be inconspicuous, they do not select a name to use as an alias that is too ordinary, nor too extraordinary, as names of both extremes tend to be rather subconsciously memorable to people.

This is why you select names that are neither too ordinary nor otherwise, like ‘Jane Woods’.

When one aims to be inconspicuous and succeeds, they remember and notice everything about everyone, but keep themselves unmemorable and unnoticeable as possible.

You are, of course, a person who does just that, and does it quite well, if you do say so yourself. You don’t strive to ‘fly under the radar’ for sport or nothing, either. In fact, it’s rather imperative that you do, and not just because you're what would be referred to as a 'self-employed investigator' (Or, as you have coined yourself, 'Holmes for Hire'. It rather entertains you).

The other reasons for this are very much related to the reasons you have for never using the surname ‘Crocker’ as an alias.

Wait, why are you thinking about that right now?

You push the approaching subject out of your mind before it can come any closer. You’ve pondered over that subject quite a bit on prior occasions, during which there was nothing better to ponder over. Yes, you’ve pondered over it quite generously, and so there is no good reason to ponder over it now, especially when you’ve currently much more important things to ponder over.

A good example of one of these worthwhile ponderings is the motives of the somewhat suspicious young woman you’re currently engaged in conversation with, or perhaps the train you’re waiting for whilst doing so. 

“ _Jane Doe_?”

The woman repeats, with a rather tipsy sounding laugh, looking at you skeptically through a pair of bright pink iris implants,

“Okay, I get it, you wanna be anonymous.”

You laugh along with her good naturedly at your own little joke, as though you’re not currently in the middle of discerning whether or not the quirky character that approached you out of the blue is friend or foe. You're not even on the sleuthing job right now (you just got back from your work, actually), but the suspicious instincts it's developed and ingrained in you are ever present, sleuthing or otherwise.

“No, not really,”

You reply, adjusting your glasses,

“My name is Jane Rowan. You can call me Jane, because it’s a little odd to refer to someone by their full name regularly.”

The woman nods in agreement, laughing a little more, before reaching into a pocket on her dark cowl-necked trench coat and pulling out a plain looking flask, which she then proceeds to down the contents of, her pale-haired head tipped back near dramatically. It is obviously not the first alcohol she’s consumed tonight, as was something you noticed right away, when she first approached and greeted you, mere minutes ago.

You had been sitting alone at the train stop (an unusual occurrence in the ever-bustling Skaia city, you noted), reviewing the events of earlier tonight, when suddenly, the woman you’re now watching chug a flask had seated herself down next to you rather comfortably, and had instantly begun enthusiastically talking to you about the pretty colours of the rather uninteresting sign hanging nearby. The woman had then inquired about your name, and the rest is far too recent to waste time and brain power recalling. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the woman hiccuping, which signifies that she’s finished with that mildly _eyebrow raising_ spectacle. The woman now resumes eye contact with you, crooked grin reappearing on her charming (yet noticeably tired-looking) face.

After clearing your throat a tad awkwardly, (how could one not be a tad awkward, after witnessing what you just did?) you decide to proceed the conversation she not-so gracefully started.

“And how about you?”

The drunken woman looks at you confusedly.

“What 'bout me?”

You clarify your mildly vague question.

“What would your name be?”

The woman laughs a bit, making you, now, the confused party.

“My name?”

“Yes, your name.”

The woman hesitates, which is certainly a suspicious thing for one to do when asked their own name,

“Roxy.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Roxy.”

“Uh...yeah, you too, Janey!”

Roxy laughs once again, and you give a small chuckle as well, all while storing this information away in your brain for later. The nickname use strikes you as a bit unusual for a stranger, but you make nothing of it.

You register the distant hum of your train approaching, and look to see the beams of its headlights illuminating the tunnel it will soon appear from.

“Your train’s here.”

Roxy suddenly says, startling you a bit.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, it is.”

Roxy clumsily stands up from her seat, tucking her flask away.

“Well, it was nice meetin’ ya, Janey!”

She cheerfully remarks, shaking your hand rather roughly. Before you can say anything else to her, she’s already stalked off and disappeared into the shadows of the cool night.

_...How peculiar._

You begin questioning why Roxy sat down at the train stop in the first place, if she didn’t even intend to board a train, before you’re interrupted by aforementioned train coming to a stop in front of you.

You’ll save thinking over this subject for the ride, you reason, and so stand up from the bench.

After adjusting your coat, you board the train, handing the train droid your return ticket.

You then make your way down the aisle, looking for a vacant seat that isn’t next to a particularly sketchy individual. One cannot be too cautious on a Skaia City train at 12:30 AM (the current time, according to the digital clock at the front of the train).

You meet eyes with a few particularly unfriendly looking trolls as you move along, eventually finding a safe looking window seat beside a tired seeming man who appears to be rather engrossed in a book he’s reading.

Humans are somewhat less common at night around here, mostly because you’re all wired to be diurnal. Trolls are the inverse; they’re twice as common after around 6 to 8 PM, since they’re a nocturnal species. The reason you tend to keep your distance from the yellow-eyed arthropods on the train is that they also tend to be rather irritable, and when irritated, aggressive and violent.

Well, at least the ones of colder blood colours are, anyways, and not to mention also much stronger than the warmer blooded ones.  Regardless of blood caste, trolls always have thick grey skin, large owl-like eyes, coarse black hair, sharp teeth, and a pair of brightly coloured ‘horns’, which function more like an insect’s antennae.

Yes, it’s definitely best to not upset those strange bug people.

Sure, you’re armed with a standard pistol, but you’ve enough common sense to know that getting into any sort of scuffle is really more trouble than it’s worth, not to mention very much the opposite of inconspicuous.

As the train starts moving, you allow your thought processes to shift from the topic of trolls and their behaviors, and more to recounting your rather cryptic encounter at the train stop with ‘Roxy’ (if that is, indeed, her real name).

You’re still not fully sure what to make of it as you sit gazing out the train window, into the bright lights and colours of the city below, replaying the event in your head.

Why had the girl approached you like that? Why had she initiated a conversation with you about virtually nothing at all, then wandered off shadily?

There’s always the possibility that you’re overthinking this, of course. Perhaps the explanation you’re looking for is that the drunk had been wandering by, likely after leaving some party or night club, noticed you sitting on the bench, and decided to chat you up out of impulse.

You know that you should probably dismiss that strange encounter as one of those odd things that happen to a person when wandering around the city at night, but there was just something about that woman that makes you feel like the meeting wasn’t just coincidence. Maybe you’re seeing suspicious things where they aren’t, in an instance of classic false pattern recognition. You are well aware that you may be more than a little paranoid, so you jumping into sinister speculations isn’t exactly a conclusion to be dismissed just like that. Surely an individual who is legitimately up to something wouldn't present themselves as so suspicious and...off.

You’re giving yourself a right bit of a headache with all of this. Aforementioned encounter is likely nothing significant.

Deciding to give your brain a small rest, you turn your attentions outwards, to the window you had been sightlessly gazing out of a moment ago, now taking in the sights behind the pane of smudged glass.

You’re looking down at the dingy, neon lit streets and alleyways of Skaia’s fourth sector, otherwise known as ‘The Fourth’.

The fourth sector is where your temporary lodgings reside, and where a proportionately large amount of Skaian residents also reside, human and troll, as it’s the largest sector. Its buildings tend to be rather run down, and it's overall just decrepit, especially when compared to the third sector, which you are now returning from. The Third is a lot like the second, except it's a bit smaller, less dirty and run down, and crime is less frequent (or at least on the surface; you speculate that there's much more goings-on there than a vast majority of Skaians are aware of.).

There are four sectors in Skaia, the two others being the second sector, or just ‘The Second’, where the aristocrats dwell, and the ‘The First’. The First is the political centre, as well as the home of the Crockercorp headquarters, or so is inferred by most.  No one really knows about the actual happenings up there.

Noticing yourself going off on some brain tangent, you wrench your train of thought away from the first sector and back to the late-night scenery outside your window.

The hover-train weaves its way through the towering buildings, their lights looking like comets as they fly by your vision, before passing by a few flickering holographic billboards, a few of which are for Crockercorp and its services. They all feature the same bright red logo and cheerfully smiling woman on them. They're a rather common sight, here in Skaia city. 

You pay them little mind.

You turn away from the window, briefly, to glance at the train's clock. It’s 1:17 AM.

You return your attentions to the window once again, since there really is not much better to do, right now.

The countless bright lights of the city flicker and pulse in your unfocused vision like colourful stars. That's a loose metaphor, of course, as you have never seen stars before. Well, not real ones; only in photographs. You vaguely recall your grandfather telling you about stars, and how if you were to gaze up at the sky in a place without the lights of the city, you would see billions of stars, all blazing brightly in the sky. It reminds you of some sort of an inverse of the city's lights. The very concept of them is difficult to imagine, in all honesty, despite having seen photos and renditions.

You continue to gaze out the window, into the dark and distant sky, your view of it obscured by the hovercars darting back and forth. It's featureless and bleak, as opposed to the busy lightshow below.

You cannot see the stars here, the city drowns them out.

 

After a short while longer, the train eventually arrives at your stop, which is on the ground level of The Fourth. You maneuver your way through the crowd of now unseated passengers to the exit door, careful not to bump into any cold-blooded trolls.

Once officially off of the train, you set off down an alley that you recognize will take you back to your hotel, walking swiftly through the cool night air, coat billowing behind you, paying no attention to the mechanical hum of the countless hovercars far above you, nor the distant commotion you can hear echoing ambivalently.That sort of thing is commonplace, and you're used to it by now. 

You tuck your hand into your jacket, resting on the grip of your pistol, as you make your way down the dimly lit passageway, eyes peeled acutely for any trouble. 

The alleyway smells dank and musty, but that's to be expected of an alleyway of any sort, really. The hum of the busily flying automobiles is a little less audible, here, and the air is more stagnant. Your footsteps' echoing is more noticeable in this comparative silence. You make sure to watch you footing, as the alley is rather dark, not to mention littered with garbage of various kinds. The walls have miscellaneous graffiti on them, and the occasional promotional poster clinging to the dirty concrete can be made out in the low light. You catch sight of some rusty and dismembered robot parts strewn about, illuminated by a flickering sign hanging above the door of what looks to be someone's business. A decrepit alley doesn't strike you as a particularly good place to start a business, but you infer that whoever owns the place didn't necessarily choose this location.

Best luck to them, you suppose, as you proceed down the alley, still very much alert.

You catch the sound of someone else’s footsteps, out of sync with your own. That’s not alarming by itself, as it could just be someone else taking the same shortcut as you, but it never hurts to be cautious.

You turn a corner.

The footsteps continue, sounding like they’re around the same distance from you as before. You subtly speed up a bit, and the footsteps behind you speed up as well, faintly echoing off the steel and concrete walls of the dark alleyway alongside your own.

Tightening your grip on your concealed pistol, you speed up a little once again, and decide to try turning a few corners right, to determine whether or not you’re legitimately being tailed.

You turn the first corner.

The footsteps continue.

Second corner.

The footsteps still continue, volume increasing, suggesting the source of them has gotten closer to you. You speed up a little more, then move your finger to your pistol’s trigger.

If they continue after the third corner, you’ll be absolutely certain you’re being followed. You begin planning out what you’ll do if that happens as you approach the final right turn.

You turn the third corner.

The footsteps sound as though they are exponentially gaining on you. Your stomach drops cold in your diaphragm. It seems you’ve got a pursuer.

You take a deep breath, hidden pistol at the ready, and turn around to meet the owner of the footsteps.

In the dim, neon light cast by a bright purple sign above you, you make out a figure sauntering its way down the alley in your direction. Its walk is a little bit off, as though it’s _dragging_ its feet slightly as it moves. Four magenta pinpricks of light are the only details you can see on its face from this distance and in this light, which gives the stranger the appearance of having four glowing eyes, of some variation.

“Who’s there?”

You ask, sure to keep your voice stern and collected.

“I’unno, who _is_ there?”

A slurred woman’s voice replies, and you immediately are able to put a name to it.

“Roxy...?”

You uncertainly ask, still keeping your voice unafraid, and your hand steady on your pistol grip.

“Hey, Janey.”

The woman continues making her way towards you, and once she steps into the parameters of the neon light from the sign, you can finally get a good look at her.

She’s wearing a leather cowl-necked trench coat, the same that Roxy had worn during your train stop encounter. Unlike that instance of Roxy, however, she’s got a mask on, which has the likeness of a stylized cat with four glowing eyes. Masks aren’t uncommon on the streets. Some people wear them to conceal their faces from the security cameras and vigil bots. You don’t don one, because you speculate that would make you look rather suspicious when walking around. You know that people are less mistrustful of someone when they can see and observe their face and expressions.

“Roxy, what are you doing here?”

You warily ask, paying close attention to her body language, since you’re currently incapable of seeing her face,

“Did you follow me?”

Roxy laughs a little, despite the rather serious air of this interaction. You can’t help but feel more apprehensive towards her for this, as well as for the fact that she seems to have tailed you all the way back to the fourth sector. This also brings up more questions, really, because if she was going to follow you down to The Fourth, anyways, then why didn’t she get on the train with you?

“You could say that, Janey, you could say that.”

She slurs, interrupting your train of thought, voice muffled a little by the feline mask she’s currently sporting,

“Had to talk t’you. Our other convo was kinda cut short by your train showin’ up.”

You have absolutely no idea what she means or what she wants from you, but all of this bullshitting about and general vagueness is starting to annoy you quite a bit.

“Talk to me?”

You repeat, and she nods her masked head lazily and without a reply, so you proceed your talking, though you’re not even really sure where to start with this absurd and unbelievably sketchy situation,

“What was so important for you to tell an absolute stranger that you had to track them down and stalk them in a dark alleyway, like some kind of malefactor?”

“Stuff.”

“That’s extremely unhelpful and vague.”

“Important stuff.”

“That’s not much better, nor is it less vague.”

“Look, Janey-“

“Don’t call me that, ‘ _Roxy_ ’, I don’t even know you, nor do you know me.”

“I don’t?”

Roxy sounds a mixture of bemused and skeptical, as she takes off her glowing cat mask, revealing her fair face and luminescent iris cyber-implants.

“No, you don’t.”

You reply, hand still tucked into your coat, where your pistol sits, loaded.

“Says who?”

That particularly childish statement causes you to roll your eyes. Communicating with this woman is getting progressively difficult.

“Me, because it is quite _literally_ the truth.”

“I know a bit about’cha. From the security cams ‘n such.”

Security cams? As in the surveillance cameras? That makes no sense. You’re getting more aggravated and puzzled by the second.

“What on _Earth_ are you going on about?”

“The security cams, Janey.”

Roxy repeats, still looking and sounding as though this whole situation is rather amusing to her, which strikes you as surprisingly condescending, and is getting more frustrating by the second. She decides to elaborate, to some extent, on her vague statement.

“They’re a lil’ tricky to hack sometimes, but I get in to ‘em most of the time.”

You ponder over the implications of that statement for half a second.

“You hacked the surveillance cameras?”

“Yeh. Hack’t a few of ‘em. Your phone, too.”

**_...What._ **

“... _Excuse me_?”

“Uh...for what?”

“You... _hacked_...my phone?”

“Yepperino.”

“I somehow find myself doubting that.”

“Why?”

“Well, for starters, you don’t strike me as particularly capable of doing things like that.”

Roxy laughs once again.

“Want me to prove it t’ya?”

“Go ahead, I invite you to do so.”

You see the intricate circuitry of Roxy’s pink iris implants flash, and she smiles a little wider.

“Okey doke. For starters, I know your name’s not actually Jane Rowan. Or Jane. Or Rowan.”

You feel your gut sink a bit, but tell yourself that this is just her attempting to make a shot in the dark.

“That’s a bold accusation. What would my name be, if not the one I gave you?”

Roxy shrugs.

“Iono that part. Sure as hell ain’t _Jane Rowan_ , though. I think I’mma call you Jane Doe, since it’s kinda punny, considerin’ the fact that you’re kind of a mystery right now.”

“Do whatever you want, but I could say the same thing to you, about the ‘mystery’ thing.”

Roxy laughs.

“Yah, and it’s kinda gonna stay that way for now.”

“You’re implying that we’re going to have future interactions.”

“I am? Oh, yeah. But back to the proofs ‘n shit that I haxxed you.”

“You mean the non-existent proof?”

“Nope. The _really_ -existent proof. You got no personal files, Janey,”

She smiles her lopsided grin once again,

“ _None._ No backgroundstuffs, no personal shit, no medical infos. Nothin’. As far as technicalities ‘n Skaia is concerned, you don’t even _exist_ , Janey.”

You’re silent for a few moments, finding yourself doubting the shady yet novel character before you a little less, despite yourself.

“...Just saying that is not proof, and you still haven’t answered the questions I’ve given you, prior to the one regarding you supposedly hacking and surveying me.”

“All ‘n good time an’ shit, Janey. And dun’ worry, I’m the only one who’s been keepin’ up on you, I checked-

Roxy stops, then begins to make an odd, far out expression, which you soon realize is her looking at something on her eye implants.

“Shit.”

She says under her breath, before her distinct smile returns to her soft yet tired features, as her pink gaze returns to you,

“Well, Janey, it seems I gotta blast real soon. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Roxy then returns her feline mask to her face, once again concealing it from your view.

You make eye contact with the pink light of the mask’s main eyes, where you know Roxy can see you from.

She has to leave? For what, and why in the middle of a rather perplexing conversation (which you _really_ were hoping to get _some_ kind of explanation out of). You find yourself getting more frustrated.

“Wait, what? Why?”

Roxy doesn’t respond, and the unchanged grinning face of her cartoonish mask supplies no answers, just staring back at you through four glowing eyes, as you stare back at it, agitated and expectant.

“ _Well?_ ”

After a few more mildly infuriating moments of silence, Roxy speaks, but it’s not an answer.

“It’s 3:42.”

She slurs, same _obnoxiously_ impish tone to her voice,

“Be sure ‘ta enter your hotel room quietly, Janey. From what I ‘seen on the cams, the owners get a ‘lil pissed when you show up early in the morning, ‘cuz it wakes ‘em up.”

You’re silent in frank bewilderment for a few seconds, because this particular piece of knowledge that Roxy apparently has catches you off-guard a little.

“That’s not an answer to my question, Roxy.”

You say, a little spite slipping into your tone, as you’re a right bit angered by her dismissive attitude towards your perfectly reasonably inquiries.

“I gotta go, Janey. Sorry. Talk t’ya again, soon.”

She unhelpfully replies, and before you can object or begin to tell her what-for, she turns away from you and sprints off.

“ _Excuse_ me-!”

You shout, and try to follow after her, but she’s rather swift on her feet, and you fall behind quickly.

The echoes of Roxy’s sprinting footsteps disappear into the distance, leaving you now standing in the middle of the dingy alleyway, alone, angry, and rather discombobulated, not to mention with an absurd amount of questions.

You sigh heavily, rub your forehead in frustration, then, since there’s really nothing else you can do, proceed on your way to your temporary lodgings.

You keep a hand ready on your concealed pistol as you would usually do when traversing through an alleyway, and the rest of the walk goes by rather quickly and uneventfully, with you buried in your thoughts as you replay your second encounter with ‘Roxy’ over and over in your head, in case you can pull even the tiniest bit more information from it. Surely there's _some_ sort of cue you may have missed. 

You get nothing.

 

When you, at long last, make it to your ‘home base’, you’re uncharacteristically tired, though you’re still sure to enter the rather old, steel plated building carefully and quietly, so as not to upset the rather cantankerous innkeeper. That would most definitely not be optimal.

You then make your way up the rickety metal staircase to your room, which you unlock with your key-card, before immediately collapsing on the bed the moment you’re free of your boots, which creaks in response.

You then, knowing full well you _can’t_ sleep like this, hastily remove your coat and glasses, before changing into your sleeping-wear, which just consists of an old shirt and a pair of jogging shorts. You retrieve your pistol from your coat’s inside pocket and set it on the nightstand, where you can reach it, should an event arise that using the weapon is necessary. One can never exercise too much caution in Skaia, and certainly not in the rather trouble-ridden Fourth. This is something you're very aware of, and so sleep with a weapon by your bed, as well as one eye metaphorically open, whenever you can will yourself to sleep light enough.

After laying yourself down once again on the much welcome softness of the creaky hotel bed, you turn yourself away from the ambient pulsing neon light of the streets that shines through the window shades of your room, which you’re not too up to closing right now. It'll be alright, you can sleep through worse when you put your mind to it (and are especially tired). One learns to sleep through things like bright light when they reside in Skaia city, and if they cannot, learn to run on a remarkably low amount if it. There's commotion outside in the far distance, you can hear it, but you don't pay it any mind. It's very common here. You fall asleep to the white noise of the city, which leaks in through the hotel’s thin walls.

 

You’ll recount today later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the first chapter.  
>  **Feel free to give an opinion on what you think of this story so far, or drop me some constructive criticism. It's much appreciated, either way.**
> 
> Some very minor inspiration for this work's setting comes from [this game](http://oddtales.net/).


	2. [Intermission] Diagnostics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather early-on intermission.

Your name is not Jane Doe.

It has never been Jane Doe, neither in fiction nor reality.

‘ _Jane_ ’ would be an awfully peculiar name for a person who is, in fact, a guy, but you’re not really judging. Hey, it would be pretty ironic if a guy was named ‘Jane’.

This is kind of _very_ off-topic, and so extremely irrelevant.

What is not off-topic is the video footage you’re currently re-watching for the 12th time, which you retrieved from a Crockercorp surveillance camera via your rather refined (and, you daresay, very impressive) hacking abilities.

The video shows your ‘Jane Doe’, a trench-coat-clad lady, stepping out of a train, before heading down some alleyway, which is mostly out of the camera’s range of vision.

It’s particularly satisfying to you to finally be able to put a face to the name.

Well, sort of.

The camera’s kind of blurry, much to your frustration, as identifying Doe’s face would be a lot easier if it was clearer. You can’t say you didn’t expect this from a camera in The Fourth, as most things pertaining to The Fourth, especially its ground level, are pretty shitty and decrepit.

You internally sigh, and replay the footage for a thirteenth time, to see if you can find a frame in the video that’s a little less _absolutely fucking grainy_. Stupid shitty cameras and their ridiculously high frame rates.

 _Shit._ You accidentally skip forwards on the video’s timeline too far, in your frustration and very much to your further frustration.

Wait, hold on, what’s that?

You notice something that is not pertaining to ‘Jane Doe’ at all (Too far in to the video. Jane’s long gone, by now.), but nevertheless fascinating.

You spot a rather unmistakeable individual making her way out of the alleyway, which you recognize through the shitty Fourth Sector camera grain.

It seems you’re not the only one keeping an eye on Doe.

Well, hello _hello_ , Roxy Lalonde. Fancy seeing you here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that wasn't extremely vague at all, was it?


End file.
